Get Thee To a Madhouse
by clara fox
Summary: Part parody, part fluff, part catalogue of British lit. Ophelia takes the place of Alice in a Looking Glass world inhabited by classic British characters and authors, and absurdity wins the day. Only for huge fans of Brit Lit. It picks up after Ch 1.
1. In Elsinore

**Title: **Get Thee To A Madhouse

**Author:** Clara Fox

**Summary:** Part parody, part fluff, part catalogue of British lit. Ophelia takes the place of Alice in a Looking-Glass world inhabited by classic British characters and authors, and absurdity wins the day.

**Premise:** I guess you could categorize this as a challenge fic, with the challenge being to create a parody of a great work of parody, and replace all the original characters with other characters and authors from classic British literature. Although it does start in Elsinore, it's really based on _Through the Looking-Glass, _by Lewis Carroll, so I've categorized it as _Alice In Wonderland_.

**Disclaimers:** I've taken characters, and lines, from many, many works, and I've included some real authors, some of whom are still alive. The portrayals are meant to be exaggerated and humorous; I've only bothered to include authors I have great respect for. If the authors and characters weren't presented as caricatures of themselves, there would be no room for them in as farcical a piece as an Alice story. Also, anybody who is actually able to pick out which authors I'm talking about will necessarily be familiar enough with their work to not be misled by the one-sided portrayals. In other words, it's all in the spirit of fun, so please don't start thinking libel.

**Reader Beware: **You probably won't appreciate this is you aren't at least fairly familiar with the Alice books, and I will be incredibly surprised if you recognize even half of these characters and authors. I might eventually post a list, if anyone really cares to know, because although everyone in this story is from (or wrote) a so-called "Classic" work of fiction, some of them are pretty obscure.

* * *

Chapter 1: In Elsinore

* * *

"And so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night..." 

Ophelia's distracted voice echoed through the Great Hall of Elsinore, sending sweet echoes scattering across the flagstones and thinly-draped walls. On the King's order, Horatio followed her out of the room and through the corridors, catching fragments of her mad song:

_He is dead and gone, lady,  
He is dead and gone;  
At his head a grass-green turf,  
And at his heels a stone._

The song died away suddenly, and Horatio turned the corner to find the hallway dark and eerily silent, save for the rustle of curtains at the far end. Worried that some harm might come to the girl, he hurried to find and calm her, and in his haste failed to notice the half open library door to his right.

From behind a stack of books, Ophelia peered out, breath held, to see if Horatio had gone. "Finally," she thought, "I can stop this insanity nonsense. I can hardly see how good Hamlet keeps it up—it tires the mind so." She stood up and looked around her, in wonderment at the sheer number of books lining the shelves in the room.

She approached the nearest shelf with a little trepidation, as she had never before been let into the library without the supervision of her brother or father—the former who kept all but the most innocent and banal works from her supposedly pure blue eyes, and the later who prevented her from reading simply through his incessant lectures about the value of the pastime itself.

There was a book lying before her on the floor, and Ophelia picked it up and began turning over the leaves. It seemed to contain verses written by a person called Z.B. Marion, but many of the words seemed strange and the story rather fantastical. This was the poem that Ophelia read:

_**Grendlewocky**_

_'Twas brillig, and the slithy halls  
Surrounded and protected us;  
The frilty moss on all the walls  
Gave odors of enchanting musk._

_My only son, so hoaffly strong  
Away from barb'rous men had run  
He'd gorged himself, did nothing wrong,  
But they still chased him from his fun._

_He only ate but one or two,  
And killed them well before his meal  
But they did as all humans do  
And strove, a fatal blow to deal._

_And none could pierce his instifal hide,  
Save one, a king from Babylesh,  
Whose strength was shrukered far and wide;  
He could renunder monsters' flesh._

_For meverold hour this king, he walked,  
In darkness evercompassing,  
And meverold time in fear he squawked,  
His courage lost to redundancy._

_Down through the mank'rous roof he broke  
(The darkness made him outgribe still)  
But having gave my son one look,  
He swore this creature not to kill._

_"For could I seek to harm," quoth he  
"A creature with the hair and girth  
Of my best friend, no no, I see  
The frabulous potent' of your worth."_

_Although vertwixt and much vertrout,  
My clomwart son laid down his claws  
He strove to hear the stranger out,  
And was then justened for his pause._

_The strak king took him up to land,  
And overthrew the Daincient throne  
Acreed __him head of sea and sand,  
Gave __me the magic of the Stone._

_So we then all Dancientia took,  
Ate bluicey fleshburgs every day  
While yon king left, and elsewhere sook  
The wedgeworth gods who had him made._

"It seems quite a good story," Ophelia said after she finished reading it, "but it's _rather_ hard to understand!" (You see, she was reluctant to admit, even with no one else around, that she hadn't been able to make much sense out of her very first book.)

"I can tell that _somebody_ appointed _something_ to rule over the land, only I rather think he wasn't such a nice choice for a king. It seems almost as if I have heard that story somewhere before, but the ending is changed."

"But oh!" thought Ophelia quickly, "they will be quick to find me, should I stay here. I surely ought to quit the castle." And so saying, she jumped up, ran her hands through her hair to make it stick out wildly in all directions, and flailed her arms wildly as she ran toward the glassy brook.

**x x x x **

Ophelia peered into the stream, looking at the girl with disheveled hair and an armful of flowers who gazed back at her from just below the surface. The girl's left hand moved up to her face as Ophelia raised her right arm to push back her hair, and Ophelia wondered why her reflection, which looked exactly like her, should make all the opposite movements.

"It is almost like the way, in the poem," she mused, having since remembered more of the real monster's story, "everything is switched from what it should be. I wonder, if I could go to the other side, would I see everything backwards?"

She leaned forward, trying to see more of her surroundings from the new point of view, but she very nearly lost her balance, and jumped back in mild concern. "For had I fallen in," she thought out loud, "I might have had a nasty time of it. I had better take hold of the sturdy branch of this weeping willow." Grasping one of the thin tendrils of the tree, Ophelia leaned farther over the water, and, of course, promptly fell into the brook.

Splashing furiously, she called out to the figure that had just appeared on the bank: "O dear Gertrude, O sweet Queen! Lend me your hand! Get me some aid, for I shall drown!" The stately queen smiled calmly in reply, but made no move to help.

"I know you are not mad, Ophelia. I know you are fully in your senses, just as I know my son is sane, and my husband is guilty. I know more than you could dream, Ophelia. I shall be eloquent and piteous when I bring the news of your death to your brother, but for now I will be brief. You got in my way, complicated my plans to get rid of my son and to gain the throne. But luckily, you will never be able to tell anyone of this. Sweets to the sweet, Ophelia. Goodbye!"

Surprised and rather overwhelmed by this revelation, Ophelia sat in the brook with her mouth open for a moment before her skirts became heavy with water and pulled her under. She fell slowly through the sunlit water, seeming to see her reflection still above the surface, looking down at her, wondering why the hand clasped to her mouth was the right, and not the left.

**x x x x**


	2. In The Garden

* * *

Chapter 2: In the Garden

* * *

It was bright afternoon when Ophelia woke on a velvety lawn and sat up to look about her. He clothes had changed from her normal attire; they were now shocking and indecent in both color and style. Her legs, clad in striped stockings, lay otherwise bare to the knee, and outside her ridiculously full skirt, around her waist, was tied an entirely useless scrap of white cloth with two pockets. 

She picked herself up carefully, wondering not only where she was, but also who she was, for she could not seem to remember her proper name. For some reason, it seemed that she should be called Alice, which sounded rather ridiculous, but it was, after all, the only name she could think of, so she decided to keep it for the time being.

Alice walked down a pleasant-looking path until she came upon a small garden, where she decided to stop and rest for a moment under the shade of a large tree. "Oh, Tiger-Lily," she sighed, "I _wish_ you could talk! You could tell me what place this is!"

"We _can_ talk," said the Tiger-Lily, looking her critically up and down. "When there's anybody worth talking to." Much surprised, Alice approached nearer to the flower, who continued her chatter in a rather silly voice.

"We talk all the time, about parties and petals, and about young men who might come to pick us!" the Tiger-Lily said. "My two sister Lilies have had men buzzing around them all summer, and they expect to be picked any day now, or at least my mother says so, and she is right ever so much of the time! But even though I _am _the youngest, I am still the tallest, and my leaves are rounded beautifully! I just can't wait until the next picnic in the garden, when all the eligible gentlemen come around. I've got the prettiest petals of all, you know, and everyone says I am _so_ friendly and talkative! You should have seen me last week—I had _seven_ boys come over to smell my fragrance! And my older sisters had only two each, and Rose here hadn't any at all!"

She stopped to giggle, and her burbling stream of language was cut off (quite fortunately, as Alice thought) by an indignant exclamation by the Rose. "Well you can say what you like," she said, bristling, "but _you_ are not the one who is the most learned. _I_ have been called a flower of deep _deflection_, and authors most often use _me_ in works of great literature. I am mentioned, quite favorably, I might add, in such literary masterpieces as A Rose For Emily, A Tea Rose in Brooklyn, and The Sun Also Rose I have read all of those books, of course, and countless others as well, and each spends much time _louding_ my beauty. If I may quote from a work by the great..." but here she was interrupted by the earnest but often overlooked Daisy.

"Have you ever really thought," the Daisy began eagerly, "about the meanings of those books on mankind as a whole? I mean, so much is done these days in Art and Literature, but it is still seldom that we find any works that contain goblin footfalls—instances of overarching significance, and sometimes even menace, that portend something very great about humanity. You know what I mean, don't you, dear?"

This last remark was directed toward Alice, who very awkwardly replied that she did not, entirely understand the Daisy's meaning.

"Have you never heard Beethoven, then?" enquired the flower, "Tell me, what painters are your favourites? The neoclassicists? Impressionists? And what do you think about women's suffrage and the movement to help stamp out poverty in London?" She stopped and sighed, seeing the look of complete bewilderment on Alice's face, and pointed to a pair of flowers at the edge of the bed.

A vibrant Larkspur bent over a dark-tinted Violet, and the two in what appeared to be a heated conversation. "They were planted near each other, but they certainly do not get along," the Daisy informed Alice cheerfully. "Ever since spring, those two have been at it over the question of the woman's place in society or literature. I keep trying to join in, for I do love a good debate, but they never seem to hear me."

Alice thanked her and went over to the arguing pair, where the Violet was protesting dully, "I just keep telling you, women are never strong enough characters to drive a plot. Set them up as love interests, yes, or maybe as the victims of violent crimes or as the falsely-accused-innocent to add to the guilt of the main male character, but never would I give a female any deep personality or striking features. As my husband says..."

"Oh, stop bringing your husband into this!" exclaimed the Larkspur. "I've not been married in all my life and still I write happier books than you! Women can be strong and smart, even more so than most men! I do admit that some girls are unbearably silly (take the Tiger-Lily and that Rose, for instance) but no book is complete without a female protagonist who stands up for herself and makes the female sex look good!"

"I most ardently disagree with that viewpoint," began the Violet, "women are feeble, both mentally and physically, and depend on men for all the support in their lives. Why, if it weren't for my brilliant husband, I would never have been able to start a family _and_ write a classic novel at the age of eighteen!"

"Well then it sounds like you managed to find the ideal husband," commented the Tree, but the rest of his remark was cut off by a gruff voice from one of his branches.

"Both of you are shamelessly prejudiced!"

"Ah! Just the word I was looking for!" screamed the Larkspur in surprised delight.

"_As_ I was saying," continued the Crow, for it was he who had spoken, "Your views on the sexes are discriminatory, biased, and narrow-minded, and I take personal offense to them, even though they have little, if anything, to do with me. In my country, we have a saying about people like you."

"Oh, not with the sayings again," said the Tree with a resigned sigh.

"We say that the people who will only eat the red yams will most likely miss out on eating the brown yams. Which reminds me of a fable that, while entertaining, has almost no bearing on my original point. There once was a very clever turtle..."

"Bough! Bough-wough!" Shouted the Tree, and the crow flew up into the sky in a panic. Alice, suddenly interested again, tilted her head up to the tree and said curiously, "Now that's strange...I didn't think trees could talk!"

"Of course we can," the Tree replied. "I usually speak in normal tones, but I had to use my bark to scare away the Crow. Now you look like a woman of some importance—what is your name?"

Alice thought hard, trying to remember what she was called before she arrived in the garden. "I...am not really sure." she finally admitted. "But I think it is Alice."

"Alice," the Tree repeated, "yes, I think the name does fit you. You do know the importance of having a name that fits you, now don't you? Now take myself, for instance: I am a Wild Oak, and that name fits me just splendidly. Why, if they gave me anyone else's name, I would have their head on a platter! There, there, don't be alarmed, I was just making a joke," he added hastily, as Alice had just become rather pale and looked a bit out of breath.

The Tree beckoned to a pompous-looking woman in red robes, saying as he did so, "you look winded, my dear. Here, let me fan you." Alice tried to duck his sweeping branches, and protested that she was not breathless, just a little hungry. The woman, whom the Larkspur identified with a small snigger as the Red Queen, walked right up to Alice and stared at her disapprovingly.

"Haven't been fed enough?" she asked, looking quite cross-eyed as she tried to gaze down her sharp nose. "Well I call that shocking, that a family cannot properly nourish its daughter, nor," here she took out a monocle to inspect Alice's clothes, "nor can it dress her decently. Stand up straighter, girl, and curtsey while you're thinking what to say. It saves time."

Alice stood still with her mouth hanging open a bit, wondering who this woman thought she was, to take the liberty to criticize everything about a girl she had hardly met. "I don't suppose," continued the Queen, "that you have ever heard of Rosings, my estate?"

"Ah! Another celebrated use of my beauteous name!" chimed the Rose, looking quite smug.

"Who said _that_?" asked the Queen in distaste. "What I was starting to say, before I was so _rudely_ interrupted"—here she sent a steely glare in the direction of the rosebush—"was that _Rosings_, my _delightful_ estate, has a garden _much_ more beautiful than this, and, of course, much bigger as well."

Alice curtseyed again, for she feared from the Queen's tone that she was a _little_ offended. Trying to stay as quiet as possible, Alice backed slowly away from the edge of the garden, where the Queen stood in animated conversation with the Larkspur, who had turned her sharp wit momentarily away from the sullen Violet.

**x x x x  
**


	3. Into the Forest

* * *

Chapter 3: Into The Forest

* * *

As soon as she left the Garden, Alice, still feeling rather hungry and thirsty, made her way to the nearby forest. She entered slowly, as she had heard of the voracious animals that sometimes inhabit dark wooded areas, but she soon found the dappled light pleasant and comforting to the eye. 

Hearing voices, Alice walked slowly to the edge of a clearing, and peering around a tree saw two identical figures standing side by side. She remembered an old nursery rhyme ("curious," she thought, "I don't remember ever learning it in my real life, but now that I'm here I seem to know it.") and said it softly to herself:

_Tweedledum and Tweedledee  
Agreed to have a battle  
For Tweedledum said Tweedledee  
Had spoiled his nice new rattle._

_Just then flew down a monstrous crow,  
As black as a tar-barrel;  
Which frightened both our heroes so,  
They quite forgot their quarrel._

"Aha!" said the one on the left, walking toward her, "therein does not lie the root of our quarrel, no, what has in verity brought us out into the realm of Zephyrus, who with his sweet breath doth kiss the drought of March farewell to welcome in the showers of April, is a lack of agreement on a certain subject. Pray, be seated, and I shall tell you my tale, the Author's Tale, in return for a drink and sweetmeat."

Alice opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn't any drinks or food, for that matter, as she herself was still quite hungry and thirsty. Before she could speak, however, the second man, who had also approached her during the other's speech, started to talk.

Tweedledee, as Alice recognized by the name on his collar, began a speech of his own, with a smile playing about his lips and a snicker escaping from them every so often:

_Tweedledum and Tweedledee,  
Alike in their attire,  
Nonetheless could not agree  
On subjects of satire._

_Tweedledum, he figured so:  
The clergy was for hire;  
For summons or indulgences  
A man could buy a friar._

_Monks and priests were just as bad  
Corrupt as church could be,  
And other people, moral-less,  
Abound from sea to sea._

_My own thoughts, quite different  
Are roughly here as follows:  
The upper class, with pounds and pence  
Should all go to the gallows._

_They quibble over insults small,  
__ They waste their time and ours,  
Their ignorance to me does call,  
__And I then write for hours. _

During the recitation of his poem, Tweedledee had spent a great deal of time standing on his head, while Tweedledum danced around gleefully, making derisive comments about nearly every group of people that had lived in the Middle Ages in England.

"Excuse me," Alice asked, "but is there anybody you _don't _make fun of?"

Tweedledum considered a moment, and said, "No, but some men better than others be. Knights, I say, can have good spirits, as with most of the working men who till the dirt in all our fields. But as for many a man, and woman, too, not Becket himself could cleanse their sins."

"You are too worried with sins, say I," said Tweedledee reprovingly. "People need to live life full, to see the world through eye and pen. There is no time for petty things, to err is human—we are but men!"

"If you would then speak of error and sin, my friend," answered Tweedledum, "I propose that we, to make the afternoon short, do tell a tale to this good lady here. As you may wish, we might tell it in verse, that the more enjoyment she from it may take. What say you to that?"

Tweedledee considered and nodded his head. "Agreed. I will tell the story, in meter and rhyme as you suggest. I will borrow as well from authors past and present, and make the tale entertaining."

Alice sat down on a tuffet, eager to hear a nice story, for, as she thought to herself, "People in this place are always so eager to tell you something!"

This is the poem Tweedledee recited:

_The sun was shining on the trees,  
Shining with all his might  
__He did his very best to make  
__The forest green and bright  
Which was odd, because it was  
The middle of the night._

_The moon was shining sulkily,  
She found it not a lark  
For yellow light, it has no place  
Where hearts of men are dark.  
So huffily the moon did rise  
And went to hunt the Snark._

_The Walrus and the Carpenter  
Were walking on the land.  
They wept like anything to see  
So many rocks at hand._  
"_If these were only cleared away,"  
They said, "It would be grand."_

"_I would propose," the Walrus said,_  
"_A means to fix this place:  
These stones we must dress tastefully  
With pepper, thyme, and mace  
And then we offer all the lot  
So men can stuff their face."_

_The Carpenter looked skeptical,  
He had no faith in this._  
"_But listen close!" the Walrus said,_  
"_And we can get our wish!  
For right now we stand hungry,  
And we are short on fish._

"_But if we put this plan to work,  
And make them all eat stones,  
We solve not only hunger here,  
But also get the bones,  
And flesh as well, of animals  
We root out from their homes._

"_I could quite well convince most men  
To feast on wood and rock,  
If it looks succulent enough  
And I have time to talk.  
For in my speech pure eloquence__  
Along with sense does walk."_

_The Carpenter said nothing for  
A while as he sat  
Upon the ground, impatiently,  
And fiddled with his hat._  
"_Come, think with me," he cried aloud,  
And gave the ground a pat._

_The Walrus and the Carpenter  
Sat thinking on the ground,  
When suddenly the Carpenter  
Jumped up in one swift bound._  
"_I've got a plan that can't be beat:  
It's brilliant, and it's sound._

"_We first enslave a school of fish  
We catch from in this stream,  
Then make them work and till the land,  
Grow fruit and lettuce green;  
And then we kill and cook them all  
And serve them with fresh cream!_

"_You do the work, I'll organize,  
Together we will rule  
Over all the land we see,  
We shall be firm and cruel."  
A thirst for power sparked his eye,  
And he began to drool._

_They found a raft, and on the stream  
The two began to float_  
"_I'll be our General Manager,"  
The Carpenter did gloat.  
But then he went and hit a snag  
And promptly sank the boat.  
_

_The Walrus and the Carpenter  
Swam swiftly for the shore;  
They wondered where the noise was from  
That loud, and splashy roar.  
The waterfall, it claimed them both,  
And they were heard no more._

"I didn't much like the Walrus," commented Alice at the poem's end. "He tried to take advantage of the people so, wanting them to eat the rocks. But then the Carpenter did all he could to gain power over the fish, so I don't know if I can say who was worse."

"I will tell you who is the worst!" came a booming voice from up above. Tweedledum and Tweedledee cowered in fright under a small umbrella, and Alice looked up to see the angry Crow. He was now much bigger and blacker than he had been in the garden, and the sound of his wings beat through her head like a thunderstorm.

"That story offended me deeply! I cannot hear such racism and prejudice without taking action about it! No story should contain any person who may be stupid enough to eat rocks, and any mention of one group taking advantage of another must certainly reflect on the opinions of the storyteller! I accuse you both of discrimination. And you, too," he added, pointing at Alice. "You listened to the story, so you were accessory to the bigotry."

"Don't you think you might be overreacting, just a bit?" asked Alice timidly. "I mean, after all, it _is_ only a story. It's meant to entertain. No one said it was right."

"_I'll_ tell you a story! It is about a black bird who worked hard, harder than anyone around him. He was prosperous and well-liked. Then a white bird came to town. In a totally unrelated occurrence, the black bird had a stroke of bad luck and his life was ruined. Obviously, the white bird had caused all the problems in the black bird's life, and there the story ends with a watertight climax and resolution."

"But there _was_ no cl..." Alice began, but the Crow suddenly cocked his head to the side and flapped hurriedly away. "Perhaps he heard someone saying that illiterate people can not write, and he had to take offense at that obvious insult to the illiterate of the world." said Tweedledee, with a serious face but a twinkling eye.

The three looked around suddenly, as the sound of a freight train rumbled through the clearing. "This way!" said Tweedledee, and they all followed him through the trees to where a man in red lay sleeping, his snores causing his large nightcap to rise and fall in rhythm.

"They've lost it!" he called out suddenly. "'Tis gone! It is now lost!" Alice looked at the man closer, thinking he must have awoken, but he still snored, although more softly now.

"What have they lost?" asked Alice.

"Love's Labour, of course," answered Tweedledee.

"This is the Red King—what else would he have lost?" put in Tweedledum.

Alice began to tell them that she really had no idea, when the Red King began to mutter again:

"Hero, Baptista, Cymbeline, Fleance! Why can not I come up with normal names? Perhaps they will fail to notice that I have used Juliet and Theseus twice each, and Falstaff three times...I wonder, is the bear too improbable? But then so was all of _Pericles_, Queen won't notice...need more modes of death, suffocation too difficult, keep the envy, lose the Moor next time; poison good, easy to cause confusion; swords excellent, a good stabbing carrion; death by shame—doubtful, shouldn't use again..."

He mumbled incoherently for several minutes as Tweedledum and Tweedledee stood watching, enthralled. Alice stood awkwardly beside them, wondering if she could make some kind of graceful exit, when the King started up anew:

"Mmmmph! Where are my dictionaries of off-rhymes and obtuse insults? What scurvy rogue stole them? I'll have his head...Oh help! I am attacked! Get them away from me! So many boys, dressed as girls, and disguised again as boys...so confusing! So...many...exclamation points!..." He shook his head from side to side and stretched his hands out in front of him. "Where is it? My iambic meterstick, I can't write without my meterstick! Oooooo..." The King trailed off to a low groan, and Alice looked at her companions in bewilderment.

"He is dreaming," explained Tweedledum.

Alice looked at him, still quizzical. "What about?"

"Why, about _you_!" answered Tweedledee. "And if he left off dreaming right now, where do you supposed you'd be?"

"Well right here, of course."

"Not so," said Tweedledum triumphantly. "You'd be nowhere, that's where you'd be. Why, you're only a sort of thing in his dream."

"_He_ is dreaming about _me_? No, you've got it switched all around. This is _my_ dream. He is a part of it, and when I wake up, _he_ will be gone." Alice had started to look concerned.

"Nohow!" said Tweedledum. "When the King wakes up, he'll stop dreaming and you'd go out—bang!—just like a candle!"

"I wouldn't," pouted Alice. She said it rather quietly, however, and started moving away from the King. Hearing a muffled scream from a short ways off, she took leave of the strange pair, who had in the meantime gone back to their friendly argument. Alice walked through the woods to find the White Queen in some distress.

**x x x x  
**


	4. Out of the Forest

* * *

Chapter 4: Out of the Forest

* * *

The Queen's shawl had blown over her face and head, and she looked quite surprised when Alice untangled her and said, "There. That's much better." 

"Well hello there, my dear." said the Queen pleasantly.

"Hello, your highness," answered Alice, curtseying as she spoke. The Queen looked distracted by the curtsey, and started trying to smooth her disheveled clothes and hair. After fussing for quite some time, she turned back to Alice.

"Do you need a mother figure, child?" she asked, looking hopefully at Alice. "My two nieces, and dear, dear girls they are, I do say, don't seem to want my guidance. Well now there's no understanding girls these days. In my younger years, had I been an orphan (God forbid) I would really have given sky and earth to have an aunt or cousin come to care for me. But my nieces, as I've said, are quite remarkable girls. Half German, if you believe that, but not the bad sort, no, not at all. Their father was rather queer, I must say, but Poor Emily (that was my sister) could have done worse, that's what I always say. Now these girls, and their young brother (he gets the hay fever in spring something awful, you know) have managed on their own, but I never get a night's sleep knowing about those radical women's rights groups they run around with. And they refuse to put their money in with the Rail Bonds, which everybody knows are safest—but I am boring you! Oh, I apologise profusely, and I promise not to ramble again. Now, where was I?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure…" Alice hesitated, having no desire to hear of the stability of Rail Bonds.

"Oh, well my dear, did you _hear_ about the _scandal_ in the kingdom? My word, everyone is talking about it. Would you believe, if I told you that they _let the Messengers out_! The White King's messengers (he's my husband, you know!). I forgot, you must not have been here for the trial. They stole the tarts, you know, and were to have been executed by the King but the orders got muddled and now they are out of prison and roaming the streets. I declare, I will never get a day's rest knowing that they are free men. It is a bad deal, I say. Bad, bad, baaaaad, baaaaaaa..."

**x x x x  
**

Alice looked up in surprise, just in time to see the White Queen melt away and an old Sheep appear in her place. Alice rubbed her eyes to make sure she was seeing things right. Was she in a shop? And was that Sheep sitting on the other side of the counter really knitting? Alice leaned over to see what the Sheep was making, but it seemed only to be a sort of scroll covered with different names.

"What do you do with your knitting?" asked Alice, timidly.

"Many things, shrouds and the like." said the Sheep shortly, and shut her mouth firmly. Alice felt the need to make some sort of conversation, so she gave a faint "Oh," and continued watching.

"Thou art an inquisitive child," said the Sheep, "and curiosity is dangerous in these times." She tied a knot in the yarn, fiercely, as if to strangle the needle.

"What do you sell here?" ventured Alice, not knowing what the word 'inquisitive' meant.

"Bah! Can you not see?" exclaimed the Sheep. "Wine, and some port. And eggs. You may buy an egg, if you like."

Alice, thinking that she would finally get something to eat, found a couple of pence in her apron pocket. She hastily paid the Sheep, eager to leave the shop. "You must get it yourself." said the Sheep curtly, and went back to her knitting.

Alice made her way through the jumble of wine barrels to the other end of the shop. The egg, sitting on a shelf in the back of the room, seemed to move farther and farther away and grow more and more as she approached it. Then, suddenly, the walls and ceiling faded away and Alice found herself outside once again, face to face with another character from a poem she hadn't remembered reading.

**x x x x  
**

He had grown from his normal egg-size to be even larger than Alice herself, and he sat on a low stone wall. Humpty Dumpty, as he certainly was, wore a fedora on his head and striped trousers around his middle, and with his round glasses made quite a comical sight. His perch seemed precarious to Alice, and she remembered the nursery rhyme that told the tale of his fall.

"Tell me," Humpty Dumpty said, staring at her intently, "what does the color yellow mean to you?"

"I—I don't really know," faltered Alice.

"Then I'll ask another: who are you, where do you come from, and where is your family?"

Alice, considering this the beginning of an introduction, held out her hand for him to shake. "My name is Alice, and I..." she trailed off, partly because she could not think of answers to the rest of his questions, and partly in response to the way he shrank back from her touch.

"You've been in the water today, haven't you?" he asked, darkly.

"Well yes, at least, I think I was," answered Alice. She began to fidget nervously, feeling like a schoolgirl under the stern gaze of her teacher. Humpty Dumpty began to talk again:

"You _have_ been in the water, and your hand is disgustingly nasty and moist. Don't you know all the filth that water contains? Now what on earth are you doing? Stop hopping around like a bird, girl! You ought to choose one foot and stay standing on it, if you ask me. But you haven't answered my questions."

"Well..." began Alice timidly, "I don't really know who I am, exactly. I can't remember my home or my family, although I have a feeling that home is someplace dark and unpleasant, and most of my relatives are either away somewhere or dead. I'm sorry I can't give you any better answer."

"An excellent answer, If I've ever heard one. No family or home to speak of. And I don't suppose you take much in the way of religion, either. Why, you are far along the path to becoming a celebrated author! Tell me, are you any good at making up beautiful spurts of nonsense?"

"I have _heard_ rather a lot of nonsense today," said Alice, "but I'm afraid I can't understand much of it."

"Oh, then perhaps it was something I wrote! Did it sound like the thoughts of an intelligent but muddled child? Were there made-up words and archaic allusions? They're my specialty, you know!"

Alice considered for a moment. "There was _one_ poem with a lot of rubbishy words in it. Do you think you could explain them to me?"

Humpty Dumpty looked pleased and nodded eagerly. "Let's hear the words," he proposed.

"All right, there was _brillig_, _slithy_, and _frilty_," said Alice, as she paused to think.

"_Brillig _comes from the verb _to broil_. It means four o'clock in the afternoon, when you start broiling things for dinner."

"Ah. That will do nicely," said Alice. "And _slithy_?"

"That means 'lithe and slimy,' and _frilty_ means 'filthy, silt-covered, and frothing.' They are all portmanteau words—they have more than one meaning packed into them. I myself am quite partial to such words. If I do say so myself, I am quite the expert in the field of the new language. On waxen wings, I have soared higher than any author before!"

"Don't you think you're a bit proud?" ventured Alice. "I think someone in your position should hardly take the risk..." But Humpty Dumpty was barely listening. In fact, he seemed to be reciting one of his own portmanteau words, a long and confusing one that sounded rather like a thunderclap:

"Bronglebrunglegurglfistratatatoomoogoojoobloomballyellowyolktuckrowcledarumduummumbledrumherongirllecherpureifly!" The egg man flailed his arms wildly as he said this, and almost before Alice could jump aside, he had tipped from his perch on the wall and fallen at her feet.

**x x x x**

In a panic, Alice ran back into the forest to find help. Before she had gone far, however, a low rumbling sound came to her ears. She hid behind a tree and peeked out to see a horde of men on horseback riding toward her. As they rode past, she heard several of the knights arguing:

"In the name of the King, I lay claim to the seat at the head of the table when we return!"

"Not you, by Merlin's beard! _I_ have right to that seat, for I am a knight more valiant than you!"

"No, neither of you shall have it. I am the King's rightful heir, and therefore the most worthy of the honor. I shall sit at the table's head."

It seemed to Alice that a fight would surely break out, when the leader of the group turned around on his horse and cried out impatiently: "Enough! I have heard far too much of this petty arguing! Today I shall order the royal carpenter to create a table in the form of a circle, that you may end your feud."

The other knights began to whine about the loss of the coveted spot at the head of the table, but their leader stood firm and beckoned them to follow him once more.

When the knights had gone, Alice came out from behind the tree and into an open place, where she found the White King seated on the ground. He had what looked like several puppets, and was moving them into and out of several miniature barrels. He looked up when Alice approached, and exclaimed:

"Oh! But I thought you were one of my messengers! Just look along the road, and tell me if you can see either of them."

"I see nobody on the road," said Alice.

"Ah! Quite the skill, to be able to see Nobody, and at this distance, too! I couldn't do that if I tried with both hands. But to make up for it, I _can_ write about nothing, which is a skill in itself."

"Oh, do you write then?" Alice asked politely.

"Didn't I just say I did?" countered the King.

"Well—yes, but I thought, to make conversation..." Alice began to falter.

"Aha! Statement! Fifteen-love. Match point!"

"You can't have a match point when the score is only fifteen to nothing!" protested Alice, "and besides, we're not playing tennis at all!"

"Ah, but _aren't _we?" said the White King.

"No, we aren't!"

"And how can you be sure?"

"I can't, it's just...oh, you've confused me so, I hardly know how we got started," said Alice miserably. "But there is your messenger, coming down the hill. Oh! Now he's running quite fast!" she exclaimed.

The Messenger was indeed running at top speed, and he stopped short in front of Alice and the King just as a small object rolled in between their legs, spun for a moment in the dust, and fell flat.

"Got you!" said the Messenger triumphantly. "Got what?" asked Alice. "My coin, of course." the Messenger replied. He then looked rather chagrined, and added, "But we lost him. We're terribly sorry, but he seems far too clever for us."

"Lost who?" said Alice, who by now was getting rather tired of having to always ask what was going on. "The other messenger?"

"Of course not. There _he_ is." said the King, jerking his head to where another strange-looking man stood behind the First Messenger. The new man was rummaging in the first's purse, taking out coins one by one and pocketing them.

"Well what _have_ you got for me?" asked the King. He sounded quite patient considering the circumstances, as neither of his messengers was paying any attention to him. They seemed to have found a point to argue, and were throwing short, mostly meaningless phrases back and forth.

The King cleared his throat loudly, and both men jumped. The Second Messenger held forward a bag. "We have these for you, your highness," he said. From the bag he pulled an angry-looking bird and a rusty saw. The King looked skeptical.

"This here is a handsaw," said the First Messenger: "You cut things with it, I believe."

"Well obviously," retorted the King. "So you brought me a saw and a crow. How completely absurd!"

"A crow?" asked the Second Messenger. He looked at his companion, then back at the King. "Well, your majesty, we rather thought that this was, er..."

"...The hawk you asked for, Sire." finished the First Messenger. At that moment the Crow wrenched himself out of the Second Messenger's grip, and flew into the air a few feet above their heads.

"Scandalous!" he cried. "Your treatment of me! That was discrimination, plain and clear! You wouldn't have been so rough with a seagull. I should report you..."

"Ignore him," said the Second Messenger, "he's been talking like that since I caught him. But look, your majesty: we have the documents you wanted! All rolled up and still in their original seals." He looked quite proud of himself. The King took the bundle of papers from his Messenger, and began to read the first sentence of each of them out loud:

"'Robert Cohn was once middleweight boxing champion of Princeton?'...'Early one evening, during an exceptional heat wave in the beginning of July?'...'Once upon a time and a very good time it was?'...'Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive were perfectly normal, thank you very much?'...'Call me—'why, this is the worst job you two have ever done! I only used you because I thought it would give everyone a bit of a laugh, but really, this is going too far. By Jove, you've managed to get not only the wrong documents, but in addition, they're not even from this century! You two are the greatest screw-ups in all Creation! Someone could really get rich, writing a farce to end all farces about you fellows."

The two Messengers hung their heads. Alice felt rather sorry for them, and patted one awkwardly on the shoulder. "Surely you have some information that might help the King," she suggested.

Suddenly the First Messenger jumped up. "We do!" he cried: "Sire, the Lion and the Unicorn are at it again! We saw them as we came through town."

The King sighed. "Not that again. Well, I supposed I had better go set things right. _Could_ you remember to bring the plum-cake?"

The Messengers nodded eagerly, and all four of them set off up the hill toward the city.

**x x x x  
**


	5. Into the Water

* * *

Chapter 5: Into the Water

* * *

Alice, the King, and the Messengers arrived in the town square quite out of breath. Before them, in a cloud of dust, they could dimly make out two figures fighting. The shrill cries coming from the two combatants went something like this: 

"Wretched wench!"

"_I'll_ show you how to dress properly, you strumpet!"

"Try to steal my man, will you?"

"He never was yours! He is my champion, and mine alone. _You _will never know the meaning of courtly love, witch!"

"A witch, am I? Well at least I didn't get my husband through my daddy's land and money."

"Are you accusing me of buying my way into my lord's heart?"

"No, I am accusing you of buying your way to the crown, so that you can turn the land away from its rightful customs. Take your heathen religion away from our country!"

"Never, Fairy-Queen! You will never have my champion knight, either."

"I had him first, you know. You and your simpering blonde beauty! Ha! What will you do without your shining, beautiful _hair_?"

With this, the Lion lunged for the Unicorn's shimmering mane and attempted to rip it out. The two fell to the ground and continued exchanging slaps and insults, and the White King turned to Alice and spoke:

"They are both too busy fighting all the time to realize that Launcelot hasn't been around for the last few weeks. He left a fortnight ago to fight and slay the Grendlewocky, and hasn't been seen since."

The King's mention of the Grendlewocky stirred some sort of recognition in Alice, but the memory was dim and then a great pounding noise drew her out of her thoughts.

"What _is_ that awful noise?" she asked, her hands over her ears.

"Those are the drums," answered the King: "They play the drums whenever the Great Chain of Being is upset."

"And what upsets it?"

"It gets troubled whenever someone tries to move out of their place in life, or moves really anything in a different direction than was originally intended for it." explained the King: "The Great Chain of Being has horribly bad indigestion when it is upset, you know," he added, thoughtfully.

"But that must happen rather a lot, I would think," Alice pointed out.

"Yes, in this world especially. If we didn't have the Chain, nothing remotely interesting would ever happen around here. Some of us make quite a good living because of that."

The drums grew increasingly louder, and Alice put her hands to her ears. The Messengers had started shouting over the sound of the drums: "I say," said one, "they don't have any right to subject us to this torture! It's high time we left."

"Right...left..."thought Alice slowly. "Why do those words sound so important to me?" She raised one hand to her forehead. "I'm Ophelia!" she exclaimed suddenly, and started swimming toward the surface.

**x x x x  
**

The sunlight seemed very far off, and the sound of the drums had been replaced by a rushing in Ophelia's ears. "I must get to the air before the drumming wakes the Red King!" thought Ophelia furiously. "I must, I must!"

**x x x x  
**

Back in the forest, the Red King stirred, and muttered grumpily, "mmmph, my kingdom for some earmuffs!"

Footsteps pattered through the forest, and a doleful figure dressed in black entered the clearing, mumbling to himself.

"Oh, _why_ do I lack all courage and gall! Going at this rate, no one shall I kill. Were I not so pigeon-livered...but soft! What figure is this, on the brink of sleep? Shall I allow his slumber to proceed? Or pull him from the shackles of his mind?"

**x x x x  
**

"No!" gurgled Ophelia: "Don't stop his dream!"

**x x x x  
**

"To wake, or not to wake? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler to let sleeping poets lie, or take arms to this man and have him help me act?"

**x x x x  
**

"Just a few feet more..."

**x x x x  
**

"Be still, my lips, for I shall hold my tongue."

**x x x x  
**

_Ophelia struggled to the surface of the sea;  
While the King still slept she had to reach dry ground  
But the human voice had woke him, and she drowned._


End file.
